


Re: Proposed Changes to NCO Uniforms

by Asher_Ephraim



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Concussions, Crack, Embarrassment, Established Relationship, IN SPACE!, M/M, Military Uniforms, Overworking, Poor Dopheld Mitaka, Workplace Relationship, against medical advice, fat rocks of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 00:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16419335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asher_Ephraim/pseuds/Asher_Ephraim
Summary: Hux runs a meeting after receiving a concussion. Mitaka becomes increasingly horrified.





	Re: Proposed Changes to NCO Uniforms

As General Hux dismisses the final parade line and turns on his heel, Lieutenant Mitaka scurries to follow. The general’s adjutant had missed the cues that the review was about to end because he’d been far too entranced by Hux’s easy rebukes and fluid reprimands at his men’s small failures. Seeing his superior and boyfriend this way never fails to make him a bit flustered while he imagines (and remembers) Hux’s ability to carry that sharp tone into the bedroom. The redhead certainly knows how to deliver orders—and chastisement—no matter the circumstances.

         Unfortunately, his wandering thoughts render him oblivious to the malfunctioning crane to the right of their path. He does notice it at the last possible moment, just when the trajectory of its whirling boom overlaps with that of General Hux.

         Letting out a sharp yelp, the general falls flatly, cartoonishly backward. His head hits the durasteel floor, bounces upward with the impact, and then falls back again.

         Hux opens his eyes to find Mitaka’s face nearly pressed against his, the lieutenant’s gaze fixed intently on his eyes. The pupils expand from pinpoints to normal almost instantly. “Hi,” he says and blinks slowly.

         “Did you lose consciousness?” Dopheld inquires, concern apparent in his expression.

         “I don’t think so. Everything went black for a moment, but it came right back.”

         “That’s a loss of consciousness,” Mitaka explains, thinking for the thousandth time that officers ought to have more medical training. “You’ll need to get checked out.”

         Huffing at the inconvenience, Hux dismissively allows, “I’ll go to Medical after the meeting.”

         “Promise?”

         “I promise.”

         It’s the best outcome Mitaka can hope for. The two of them have been together half a standard year, and well before then, as Hux’s adjutant, Mitaka had learned the man’s nearly religious devotion to his schedule.

 

 

“On to the next item on the agenda: Proposed changes to the uniforms for NCOs. Before we open up the topic for general discussion, I’d like to voice my own opinion. I’m of a mind that the ideal pair of space trousers would have a double-stitched inseam of durable—”

         Mitaka clears his throat and the general turns to him.

         “Can I assist you, Lieutenant?”

         “I’m sorry, General, but what did you call them? The trousers?” Surely he misheard, but he can’t think of what Hux might have actually said.

         “The space trousers?”

         “Yes, that’s it, sir. Why call them that?”

         Hux blinks slowly and when he replies, his words are evenly measured and clipped. He sounds like he’s speaking to a small and possibly not very intelligent child. “They are trousers. Trousers which are to be worn by personnel in space. Thus, space trousers.” It’s the simplest conclusion to draw.

         “But, sir, everything here is in space.” He can’t believe he’s having this conversation—and in front of every department head of the _Finalizer_. All because his boyfriend is too “professional” (read: “stubborn”) to be checked out by the medical staff in the middle of his shift.

         “Yes.”

         “So why specify it, General? Why not simply refer to them as ‘trousers’?”

         “Because clarity is essential in communication, which underpins galactic society. Otherwise we run the risk of confusion, and in the end, the collapse of civilisation itself.”

         “Because of pants, sir?” Mitaka can’t keep the dose of sarcasm out of his voice, nor would he want to. _Please tell me again why I_ _’m dating this psychopath._

         Raising both his eyebrows, Hux looks across the table with palms up. “Seriously? Do you see what I have to put up with? From my own adjutant, no less.” Shaking his head in exasperation, he confidentially stage-whispers, “Don’t worry. I’ll slap him later. With my cock. Right across the face.”

         “Sir!” Mitaka yelps in abject horror. “Please!”

         “‘Please’?” the redhead repeats with a amused smile. “You’d like me to whip it out and cock-slap you now?”

         Gritting his teeth, the lieutenant manages, “A word in private, sir?”

         “Very well.”

         Over in the corner farthest from the conference table, Mitaka tries to keep his voice down when he hisses, “I _must_ insist that you head to Medical this instant.”

         “Really, I do appreciate your concern. But I’m fine.”

         Closing his eyes for a moment in an attempt to locate some inner strength, Dopheld explains, “You may feel fine, but _I_ am approximately three minutes away from an embarrassment-induced aneurysm.”

         “I’m embarrassing you? Dopheld, don’t be such a prude. Everyone here knows we’re fucking.”

         “You’re running an interdepartmental meeting, Armitage!”

         Looking back over his shoulder to confirm this, Hux gives Mitaka a patronising smile and answers, “Yes, you are correct.” Then he executes a wobbly about-face toward the seated men and women, all of whom are making a show of not paying attention to the conversation in the corner of the room. Raising his voice, the general announces, “Alright, let’s have a vote by show of hands. Who was already aware that Lieutenant Mitaka and I have been fucking in our spare time?”

         The personnel exchange a flurry of glances. Many look toward Mitaka for guidance, but he promptly covers his eyes with one hand. “Oh Maker, I can’t believe this is happening,” he mutters miserably to himself. He must have been an utter arsehole in his previous life.

         “That’s an order, now. Who knew?”

         Captain Peavey is the first to raise a shy hand. A split-second later, Phasma is enthusiastically waving her armoured hand above her head like she’s dancing in a club. All in all, twelve out of fifteen individuals raise their hands.

         Vindicated, Hux turns to ask Mitaka, “See? No secrets here.”

         The lieutenant launches into a silent prayer. _Lord of the Universe, I beg you deliver me from my suffering._

         “It’s been six months since you first bent forward over my desk, Dopheld. You really ought to be more comfortable with this.”

         Mitaka abruptly switches tack in his prayer. _Oh, Maker, I humbly implore you to strike down this bastard. And with haste._

 

_Memorandum from Gen A. Hux_

_To:_ Finalizer _Department Heads_

 _Re: Yesterday’s_ _Interdepartmental Meeting_

_Departmental Leaders,_

_Good morning. I wish to apologise for my conduct during our most recent weekly meeting. After an accidental blow to the head earlier in the day, I unadvisedly chose to neglect my health and instead continue with my scheduled duties. I wholeheartedly regret both that decision and my subsequent behaviour._

_I_   _ha_ _ve been informed by our medical staff that I suffered a moderate concussion which quite apparently impaired my faculties._

_Also, with regards to a particular act referenced during the meeting, I will_ _take_ _this opportunity to inform everyone present that in fact Lt. D. Mitaka will be performing it, with myself as the very deserving recipient._

_With best wishes and sincerest contrition,_

_General A. Hux_


End file.
